Title: Pretty, Perfect, Psycho

Pairing: One-sidedDrew/Piper.

Summary: You think you'd make a lovely corpse, if you died young enough. Poem.

Warnings: Incest, language, and, um, insanity? Just give it a go... *pushes towards fic* It's not as bad as it seems. Really. Maybe?


Pretty.
It's what you hear,
day in and day out,
trying to find a way out.
You scratch
and claw
and bite at the words,
but they tumble on top of you,
hurt you,
crush you,
bend you and break you.

.

Perfect.
You want to yell,
scream, cry,
until they understand
perfection,
and that you are not it.
You scratch at perfect,
porcelain, pale skin,
and claw at beautiful,
big, blue eyes,
and bite your radiant,
ruby red lips
until you
splinter delicate bones
and watch as the patch of blood
grows.
You'd make a beautiful corpse,
you know.

.

Beautiful.
They whisper it,
wrap their lips around it and
throw it at you,
like throwing scraps at a
dying dog.
They fear you -
admire you -
and you hate it.
You hate them.

.

"Oh look,"
they scream quietly,
and heads turn.
"Isn't Piper pretty?"
NO.
Pretty is meant for you,
and you alone.
They're not allowed to be
beautiful,
or gods forbid,
perfect.
"She looks a bit like you."

.

Psycho.
"Don't you love me, baby sister?"
You laugh heartily,
and she twists in your grip.
You pull her closer -
closer still -
and tug at her pretty blonde hair.
"Sweet little girl,"
you purr,
but in your head you're thinking
whore.

.

"But you're so pretty,
Drew,"
they coo.
"There's no one prettier than you."
But you think,
she is.
You think you'd make a lovely corpse,
if you died young enough.

.